Teacher deficit disorder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         Back                     Back to Books                          Continue

Copyright © 2008 Edward M. Baldwin

He returns to the living room with a full wine glass, and he listens to the rain, trying to anticipate the next flash and crackle of lightning, and the boom of thunder, and then he notices the large sheet of plastic and the towels. The plastic is tacked on the wall behind his recliner, and the towels are draped over the back of the recliner and spread across the floor, along the base of the wall.

Unconsciously, as if in a fugue, he takes a strong swallow of wine. Right on cue, come the flash, the crackle, the boom. And then Mr. Snellgrove remembers—the plastic and towels won’t do.

Earlier today, he spent hours cleaning every inch of his house. Scrubbing, dusting, mopping, spraying. He doesn’t know how many people will show, but he wants his home to be as presentable as possible. However, after mounting the plastic and laying out the towels, he took two steps back, and with a glance, he knew that the plastic and towels wouldn’t do.

So he tried to determine what would do, his thoughts suddenly becoming as cloudy as the darkening sky outside his undraped windows. And the more he pondered it, the more unraveled his mind became. Then doubt set in, and with it came the familiar pangs of frustration and despair. He needed to calm his nerves. So he went to the kitchen for his first glass of Chablis—ahead of schedule, he knew, but he needed to settle down, get a hold of himself. Then, sometime during that first glass of wine—at least, he thinks it was the first glass—came the rain, the lightning, the thunder. Without warning. The voice of God, speaking to him with crackles and booms. Saying what?—he did not know. But during his moment of second-guessing, he stood in the center of his living room, ignoring the plastic and the towels, drinking Chablis, trying to decipher the words of the storm, unaware that he was merely stalling.

Once again, Mr. Snellgrove turns his back on the plastic and towels. This time, heading for the dining table, where he timidly takes a seat. He takes a few deep breaths, staring at the table top as if wondering what to do next. In the center of the table is the cordless phone, waiting for him, expecting him. Underneath the phone is the number to the Duval County Employee Assistance Program for teachers. He called the number only